


Catch me if you can (I'm waiting)

by raiyana



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms
Genre: Festivals, Grief/Mourning, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mirkwood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-19 10:54:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22676590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raiyana/pseuds/raiyana
Summary: The Feast of Lovers is a celebration of love and the coming spring beneath the leaves of the Great Forest.It's the perfect opportunity to discover if a crush is more than that - or whether an object of affection could return the feeling.But the equinox is also a time when the past is closer to the present than any other time of year.In more ways than one...
Relationships: Meludir & OCs, Meludir/Nestor(OMC)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8
Collections: 2020 My Slashy Valentine





	1. The First Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nuinzilien](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nuinzilien/gifts).



> Much thanks to Anoriath for insightful beta-work :D

He laughed, sweetly and often, and Nestor had become used to noticing the sound of Meludir’s laughter over the last few years. It was warm, like sweet golden honey, coupled with Meludir’s smile that seemed to be able to bring heat even to the hearts of the most weary of his patients whenever he visited the Halls of Healing.

And not just that, to Nestor, he had to admit, pretending that he wasn’t incredibly aware of every gesture made, every word uttered by the guard sitting at the bedside of one of his friends.

Nestor liked him. And he wasn’t doing very well with that idea, at all.

Some days, he really wished these pesky _feelings_ would just… disappear – but other days, he’d pass Meludir in a hallway and see that sweet smile and feel lighter for the whole day even if someone threw up on his shoes. Inconveniently wonderful elf.

“I’ll be back tomorrow, Master Healer,” Meludir said respectfully, though Nestor did not turn around, nodding at him over his shoulder as he wondered if the guard would ever use his _name_ rather than his title.

Probably not – they did not share the same circles of acquaintances, after all, Nestor thought, sighing to himself. _He’s so young and bright_. _And I am… not_. He wasn’t _old_ , of course, but he had seen the Last Alliance built and ended, and the weight of years separating him from the vivacious creature behind him seemed impossible to lift.

And Nestor didn’t even know if he truly _wanted_ to try.

“That is well, guardsman,” he replied, forcing himself to remain calm.

Meludir nodded, smiling in a way that made Nestor forget himself.

“Your presence is most uplifting,” he added, “… to my patients.” The hurried addition made his heart pound, cursing his errant tongue for the near-slip, but Meludir just chuckled, that liquid warmth pouring into his ears.

“Good day, Master Healer,” he said, and then he was gone, and Nestor’s shoulders could relax a little beneath his green robes, a sigh of light exasperation with himself escaping his lips.

 _I am too old to be so foolish_.

* * *

Walking away from Master Nestor’s domain, Meludir’s smile settled into a slightly dimmer version of itself as he wondered whether he had done something to upset the crotchety – he wasn’t blind to Nestor’s legendary grumpiness – elf or the lack of response to his presence was due some preoccupation.

Perhaps the preparations for the festival were weighing on him?

He was almost certain that Nestor actually liked him, after all, despite how impossible that seemed to most of his friends when he’d dared to share the theory – and his own tiny flame of feeling – with them over some good wine.

While some of them agreed that Nestor looked good, most people seemed to think that he didn’t _have_ a heart to be won, at all.

But Meludir knew better… or at least he thought so, even though Nestor could beat a mussel’s shell in keeping his softer side secret and safe – rather like a pearl.

He would look good in pearls, Meludir idly mused, making his way back to the guards’ station for his shift, deep blueish purple ones like the ones Ada had traded from the Lakemen. The image of the pearls set against Nestor’s golden-brown skin turned his smile once more, still sweet, but with an edge of desire around the corner of his lips.

“Who put that look on your face, mellon?” Magoldir wondered, bumping his shoulder in passing.

“No one, Magoldir,” Meludir sighed, his daydream disappearing like morning dew in sunlight. “Are you on my shift today?”

“And for the next couple of weeks until the Feast,” Magoldir nodded, falling into step. “We’re going hunting; two groups – Legolas’ and mine – the Captain’s last reports place a large nest of spiders not too far south of the River.”

“But we’ll be back in time for the celebration?” Meludir asked, slightly worried; he had been toying with the idea of asking Nestor to Hunt him, though he hadn’t yet decided whether he was truly brave enough.

“I should very much hope so,” Magoldir chuckled. “No one wants to miss out on the fun – but for the next three weeks you’ll get the exquisite pleasure of looking at me in the uniform for hours every day.” He flexed, grinning broadly.

Meludir laughed at the silly antics of his best friend. “Lucky me,” he agreed teasingly, reaching out to squeeze Magoldir’s arm; some people joked that he ought to have been born a Dwarf with those bulging muscles, but Meludir rather admired the effort it took Magoldir to obtain them. “You feel bigger than usual.”

“You do say the nicest things, little one,” Magoldir chuckled, making Meludir’s cheeks flush when the implication struck him, smacking Magoldir’s arm in return before he joined his laughter.

“You’re such a terrible flirt,” Meludir said, shaking his head with amusement, “I wonder if you’re related to Faindirn!”

“Now you wound me, Mel,” Magoldir replied, affecting a dramatic pose against the wall, “I am the soul of romance compared to Faindirn!”

“And everyone knows that you aren’t looking for love,” Meludir added – Magoldir had caused his fair share of crushes but as far as Meludir was aware he’d never actually fallen for anyone – chuckling, “while Faindirn falls in love at least once a sun’s turning.”

“I just haven’t found the right person yet – but I will,” Magoldir shrugged, and Meludir admired the confidence he exuded. “Faindirn, however… I don’t think he knows what he’s looking for, and so he can’t find it…” Hesitating slightly, he shrugged. “But perhaps one day he will learn.”

“Maybe,” Meludir agreed, though he felt doubtful.

“Besides, the topic was _your_ love life, not mine,” Magoldir said, poking his shoulder. “How are things with old whatshisface?”

“Non-existent,” Meludir admitted morosely, staring at his leather boots. “As in I’m not quite sure he cares I exist at all.”

“Nonsense,” Magoldir replied, nodding forcefully as he draped his arm around Meludir’s shoulders. “Even he can’t be blind enough to miss your smile – I mean, you _were_ voted best smile in the Halls for the past fifty years…”

Almost despite himself, Meludir smiled at that. “I hope so,” he sighed. “But…”

“You should ask him to join you for the Feast, you know,” Magoldir said slowly, nodding to himself. “At least he’d know you are interested, then.”

“No!” Meludir exclaimed, staring up at him with wide eyes. “I couldn’t – what if he said no?!”

“Then you’d know, I guess,” Magoldir said, frowning slightly, “and I’d have to go kick some healer butt.” Then he smiled, full of mischief once more: “But what if he said yes?”

Meludir groaned.

* * *

“Will you be my Hunter?”

Nestor froze, wondering if he’d got something stuck in his ears, because _Meludir_ had not just asked for his company during the Feast of Lovers… or had he?

“Ex-excuse me?” he asked, whirling around to see that it _was_ Meludir stood in the doorway of his personal stillroom, looking shyly determined. Heartbreakingly lovely, and entirely unconscious of the way he bit his lip.

“Will you be my Hunter for the Feast,” Meludir repeated, biting his lip again, those brown eyes soft but a little skittish.

Somewhere, Reithor’s ghost was laughing at him, Nestor was sure, idly wondering who had put Meludir up to this idea – he had performed the role of mentor in these matters before, of course, but… _but what does it matter, truly? Meludir is asking me._

“…As you wish,” Nestor replied, surprised to hear the words appear in his own voice. He had half expected a hoarse croak, the images flashing across his mind showing him exactly what he could do to Meludir’s body during two nights of passion. Perhaps he might even burn out this odd interest he felt for the guardsman.

“Excellent!” Meludir exclaimed, and then he was gone, that smile lingering in Nestor’s mind for hours afterwards.

* * *

“HE SAID YES!” Meludir screamed, barging into Magoldir’s room.

“Who said what now?” Magoldir wondered, blown away by the sudden volume of his otherwise quiet friend.

“Nestor!” Meludir continued, pacing around the room and wringing his hands nervously. “I asked him to be my Hunter and he accepted – _I didn’t expect him to say yes, Maggo!_ ”

“Okay, just _breathe_ ,” Magodir said, dropping the heavy weight – he’d bought them from a Dwarf merchant at the turn of the century – he had been lifting onto its stand and catching Meludir on his next pass, stilling his pacing with a firm grip on his slim shoulders. “ _Breathe_.”

Meludir recognised the order it was, obeying shakily as he stared into Magoldir’s calm eyes.

“Do you… do you think Nestor,” he said, licking his lips – a nervous habit he’d never been able to break – “that Nestor… I mean, he’s of Silvan blood…”

“Even if he keeps the old ways,” Magoldir soothed, “he agreed to be your Hunter – that’s binding for the duration of the Feast, at least.”

“Yes, but…” Meludir replied, biting his lower lip, “whatifhedoesn’twantmeafterwards?” Releasing the words in a whoosh of breath, Meludir slumped into Magoldir’s hold.

“Then I’ll punch him in the face, Mel,” Magoldir promised solemnly, earning himself a weak smile.

* * *

“Meludir asked to be my Dancer at the Feast,” Nestor said, still a little dazed, when his assistant healer popped her head through the door to see what was keeping him.

“How lovely,” she smiled, rescuing the salve he had been preparing from the small fire. The spring festival celebrating love in its many varied forms – physical or not – required a number of concoctions to be made and they worked hard to ensure adequate supplies were available. “I wouldn’t have said he was brave enough,” she added. “Tis rare, even now, for a Sindar to ask for a Hunter… Though you do have a reputation, of course.”

Nestor groaned.

“Hmm?”

“I forgot that he’s a Sindar,” he exclaimed woefully, staring at Iuleth with something akin to panic. The spirit that had been soaring among the clouds since that morning now seemed to plummet into the deepest depths of a Dwarf mine. “What if – oh great Nienna have mercy – he didn’t just ask me to _wed_ him… did he?”

“Would you mind?” Iuleth teased, stirring the pot.

Nestor picked up his mortar once more, doing a few turns with the pestle as he mulled it over.

“I couldn’t…” The face that hovered in his mind smiled, vivacious laughter spilling across the years. Nestor had always had a weakness for pretty smiles, and Meludir’s was lovely… how could he not find him interesting? The smile that lived in his heart seemed to grow fuller, more loving… and then it died, along with the elf it had belonged to, and Nestor’s heart went with it.

“Besides, everyone knows these Hunts aren’t about love for you,” Iuleth shrugged, oblivious to Nestor’s turmoil, “you’ve made that very clear – whoever told him you might be amenable surely told him _that_ , also. Meludir is not poor deluded Mercion.”

“You’re right, of course,” Nestor agreed, “that can’t be what he asked, surely – he was _raised_ here, as far as I know…” Making a frustrated noise, he gestured towards the door for a moment before hiding his face in his hands, sighing at his own foolishness. “I’m sure he didn’t mean anything more than wanting to learn the art of making love from an experienced elf.”

And Nestor would enjoy the teaching, too, though he did not say that out loud. He liked putting his skills to use, and sharing his body with another as an instrument of pleasure bore more rewards than the nights of passion alone, he felt. It was good to have a reminder, at times, that his hands were not only suited for the mending of injuries and crafting of medicines.

“It saddens me that you need be wary of such,” Iuleth replied, lifting her pot off the fire and pouring the greasy salve into small tins.

Nestor checked off the list they’d written up months ago; still another 15 batches to go. More than last year – but it would be a terrible thing to run out, and excess salve always found a happy home after the feast regardless.

“But…” Iuleth hesitated slightly, putting her hand on his shoulder, “I don’t think Reithor would want you to be alone forever, either. He was not that cruel.” She smiled, squeezing gently.

Nestor would have told her off, but Iuleth had been his assistant for too many years to have any fear of his bristly temper.

“Do not – oh, I should just go to him and tell him I’ve changed my mind,” he muttered morosely, though the thought of Meludir’s face with a sad expression put paid to that plan quickly. He _had_ seemed terribly excited by the prospect.

_If not me, who?_

Nestor couldn’t deny that part of him very much _wanted_ to enjoy Meludir’s company for a night – even if he would let him go afterwards. But perhaps he might be a friend, afterwards, as other Dancers had been over the centuries.

_Isn’t brief physical pleasure better than endless wonderings? Gossip has him unattached, for now… but perhaps not for long._

He’d have the memories, at least, though he feared they’d be bittersweet… particularly when Meludir eventually found his love in truth.

“That’ll be difficult,” Iuleth offered sensibly, “I just saw Magoldir taking a party of guards out with enough supplies for a few weeks patrolling… and Meludir was walking beside him.”

This time, Nestor didn’t muffle his dismayed groan.

* * *

“Wait, did I hear you say you’d be Hunted by _Nestor_?” Faindirn asked, dropping from a branch overhead to land before Meludir’s feet and interrupting his fretful analysis of Nestor’s minutest of facial changes during the exchange in his study. “Well, you’re in for a treat,” he added, a fondly wistful smile on his face. “Nestor is very good at what he does – I thoroughly enjoyed his touch; he does this thing with his _tongue_ … well, you’ll see!”

And with that, he was gone, leaving Meludir’s cheeks afire and his feet rooted to the forest floor.

“I didn’t think Nestor still took part in the Feast?” Tuilinthel said, handing Magoldir a piece of her lembas. “At least it’s been some years since I’ve seen him be anyone’s Hunter… Mercion put him off, I’m sure.”

“With his reputation he doesn’t need to play every year, Sister,” Arastor offered with a shrug. Tuilinthel shrugged back at him, breaking off another piece of lembas. “And Mercion was a fool.”

“ _What reputation?_ ” Meludir whisper-screamed, staring at the twins, who exchanged one of those wordless glances they always used to communicate between themselves. Great talkers they weren’t – and hadn’t been as long as Meludir had known them – but they were competent scouts and warriors, and that was what really mattered in the Guard.

“Nestor is considered a very good first lover – a lot of young elves go to him before a Feast of Love to learn the arts of pleasure,” Tuilinthel explained bluntly, taking a bite of her rations. Arastor nodded beside her, moving in an eerily similar way when he bit into his own meal.

“…”

“He has devoted millennia to the study of bodies, you know… and can do more with that knowledge than simply mix up medicines and set bones… _oh_ ,” she said, staring at Meludir for a long moment. “You actually _like_ him… well… that’s going to be… awkward. Does he know?”

Meludir shook his head mutely, feeling numb as he watched the twins wander off.

_He thinks I want him to teach me pleasure._

Tuilinthel glanced back at him with something like pity.

Meludir wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. Asking Nestor to be his Hunter had seemed like such a clever way to determine his feelings, one way or another…

_Does he even find me pleasing to look at? What if he only accepted to be kind? What if -_

“Meludir, _breathe_ ,” Magoldir said sternly. “We’ll sort it all out when we get back – you just have to talk to Nestor – but right now we need you to focus. Spiders are no simple enemy.”

Taking a deep breath, Meludir stilled his trembling hands, pushing away all thoughts of Nestor – and his tongue – and the Feast in his mind.

“Yes, Magoldir,” he replied, squaring his shoulders and accepting his own share of the waybread. “I’m ready.”

* * *

The spiders killed and their nest torched, the groups began to make their way home, moving slower than Meludir would have liked because of the injuries sustained, but still on track to arrive the day before the feast.

As he walked, he finally allowed his mind to return to the topic of Nestor and the Feast that awaited at home, wondering how to explain what he had meant his proposal to explain, hoping that Nestor would at least be kind when he turned him down.

He had been, before, Faindirn said, coming to talk to him a ways away from the others one evening, with the younger ones who had developed feelings beyond friendship during their training. Nestor could be harsh when it came to recalcitrant patients, but he wouldn’t be when he told Meludir no.

Meludir pretended that Faindirn’s reassurance was as reassuring as he intended, hating the pitying looks he’d been getting on and off for the past couple of days; Arastor had let slip his secret, entirely out of it on poppymilk for his leg.

Tuilinthel had smacked her brother’s arm, but that didn’t make his ramblings unsaid.

Only Magoldir tried to encourage him, but even his positive attitude didn’t mask the fact that _everyone_ seemed to agree that Nestor enjoyed physical pleasure but never wished for a permanent companion – that he had, in fact, gone to some lengths in the past to discourage any such entanglements.

Meludir almost wished that Nestor had said no to begin with. At least then he wouldn’t have set his hopes so high.

_Maybe I don’t need him to love me._

He knew he was lying to himself.

He had always enjoyed looking at Nestor, those golden eyes that felt like they could see everything when they landed on him, long slender fingers moving with such surety and grace as he worked – but he had grown inexplicably fond of the irascible elf, finding his dry humour funny and his intelligence intriguing, and Meludir wanted to explore that feeling in his gut that told him Nestor was right for him.

 _If two nights is all I can have_ , Meludir thought morosely, lost in his own thoughts as he followed blindly behind Legolas and Magoldir, _then two nights I will have – and more, perhaps, if he likes me well enough…_

Smiling to himself, feeling lighter for having made a decision, Meludir continued towards home.

_Let the Dance begin._

* * *

They were late.

Nestor meandered through the crowds, picking up a goblet of sweet wine on the way, nodding in greeting to those he knew and smiling to himself at the sight of several couples already lost in the heady sensations of each other.

He wondered how Meludir would be as a lover, letting the wine flow silkily over his tongue as he ducked beneath one of the long streaming pieces of coloured silk that decorated the trees around the festival area.

Would he be timid and shy – most first-timers were, to some degree – or brave out his nervousness with stubborn will?

Nestor thought he’d like to find out, wondering what he’d do first. Kissing, perhaps; a good way to soothe rattled nerves as his hands stroked shoulders and arms, going as slowly as needed before clothes began to come off… but not too slow.

Even though he’d never admit as much, he’d been dreaming of what that first reveal might be like ever since Meludir had asked him, and as he kept hunting among the crowds – the whole patrol still seemed to be out – the wine made his mind sing with anticipation.

It also quickened his blood, as it was meant to, heightening the pleasure he would eventually find in the arms of his young lover.

Not love, of course. _This is just for pleasure_. _I can’t offer more than that._

Taking a seat on a root, Nestor allowed himself to consider what he had not wanted to admit before; this Hunt was not _just_ physical to him.

Though it would have to be, for both their sakes.

Sealing away the small voice wanting more in the deepest recesses of his heart and mind, Nestor got to his feet once more, throwing back the last of the wine in his cup.

He had a Dancer to hunt.

* * *

“You’ve returned,” Nestor breathed, coming to a stop behind him.

Meludir felt his lips touch his neck even as the words shivered across the skin left bare by the simple robe he had changed into after the bath that had been necessary upon their return.

“I… I hope you weren’t worried,” he said, leaning back against Nestor’s chest and tilting his head to allow those lips greater access to his neck. He had been watching those dancing around the large bonfires, nibbling on a bit of roast venison as he waited for his Hunter to catch him. “We had meant…”

The soft lips stole the rest of the sentence, running up the length of his neck until Nestor could nibble at the pulse beating beneath his jaw.

“Not yet,” he whispered, making Meludir shiver with desire at the tone of his voice. “You look pretty tonight, Dancer.”

Bringing one arm around Meludir’s chest, Nestor tugged him a little closer as his lips continued to play havoc with Meludir’s mind, but Meludir didn’t care, wanting _more_.

“Thank you, Hunter, I…” A soft moan burbled up through his throat, surprising Meludir with its lewdness. “I like your lips there,” he whispered, reaching up to caress Nestor’s cheek with one hand.

Nestor’s lips drew into a smile pressed into his skin.

“For you,” he whispered, holding up a goblet of dark ruby wine.

Meludir knew what it was – part of him wanted to pour it on the ground, wanting to experience the raw pleasure of what was about to happen to him, but another part of him wanted the courage the drink would bring him.

He might have decided to accept that Nestor only offered him physical fulfilment and ask for nothing more… but that did not make his heart rest easier in his chest.

 _I need a little courage_ , he thought, _just enough to make him want to stay with me._

He wasn’t as inexperienced as Nestor seemed to think, but the gentle touches were nice, affectionate and addictive – and very capable of making him want far more.

“Kiss me?” Meludir asked, turning his head slightly, catching a glimpse of Nestor’s auburn hair flowing over green-clad shoulders before lips pressed softly against his and Meludir’s eyes fell shut. There was sweetness in it, and a hint of wine, too, but also firm control that made Meludir moan again, feeling Nestor’s arms wrap around him when he turned to face him fully.

Drawing back slightly, noting the flushed lips he’d just kissed with something like pride, Meludir drank the goblet down, staring into Nestor’s eyes as he did, seeing the lust simmering there spark when he licked the rim of the goblet to catch the last drop.

“Delicious.” Nestor purred the words, and then he was there, tongue tracing across Meludir’s bottom lip to catch a droplet of wine.

Meludir dared to put his hands up, wrapping his arms around Nestor’s shoulders, and kissed him again, a little nervous now; there had been no rules laid down, and Meludir didn’t know how much he was _allowed_ to do to his Hunter. Dropping the empty goblet on the moss made no sound, but Meludir wouldn’t have noticed if it did; Nestor’s tongue had found its way into his mouth and Meludir felt like he was floating as he tried to catch it with his own.

It was the best kiss he’d ever had.

And then Nestor’s gentle hands found the edge of the wound Meludir had made Magoldir bind for him so he could attend the festival and the world went black for a moment or two.

Gasping for air as the shock of pain faded, Meludir regained hold of himself, the hands that had been playfully explorative now holding him steady as his lover’s concerned eyes roamed his face.

“New rule,” Nestor said brusquely. “You will inform me of anything causing you pain. _Immediately_.”

Meludir winced.

The elf wanting to seduce him – and be seduced in return – was gone.

This was the Master Healer in full control, and while Meludir wanted to laugh off the aches he felt and return to the interrupted kiss, he knew Nestor would not be swayed. 

“Your back is one – any other injuries from your recent sortie?” Nestor asked, golden eyes narrowed as he studied Meludir keenly.

“A spider got me across the lower part of my back,” Meludir sighed, “and I have a bit of bruising on my left arm and thigh.”

“Follow me.”

With another sigh and a longing look at the nearby jug of Lovers’ Wine, Meludir followed.

He snagged the jug in passing, a hopeful whim making him a little reckless.

Maybe the night could still be salvaged?

Even if he was confined to the Halls of Healing for the night, Nestor would have to remain, too, and maybe, just _maybe_ , that would be the opening Meludir needed to make his move.

He wasn’t ready for his chance to be over so soon.

* * *

Meludir hadn’t needed to fear; Nestor didn’t lead him back to the Halls of Healing.

Instead, he made a beeline for the small curtained off area where he had left his own supplies, along with a number of soft cushions and blankets, opening the medical chest he always brought along to festivals. The wine always flowed freely, and injuries could happen – he still remembered the year a couple of young elves had decided to make love in a tree; sheer dumb luck neither had broken their neck when the branch gave way beneath their vigorous efforts.

“Take off your clothes,” Nestor ordered, though the arousal the words would have elicited an hour before had fled when Meludir’s eyes rolled back in his head for a moment, and turned around to see Meludir set down a jug with a wince he couldn’t quite hide.

 _I should have realised something was wrong with him. He held himself too stiffly_. _I should have talked to him first, laid down my rules_ … He would have, if Meludir hadn’t looked so damnably kissable in the light of the bonfire, and the third goblet of wine hadn’t clouded his judgement. Guilt made his voice harsher than he meant, “Let me see.”

It was not the way Meludir had _intended_ to get naked tonight, but the wine he had already swallowed had made him braver than he would normally have been in front of Nestor the Healer – as a patient, at least; he liked teasing Nestor when he _wasn’t_ the one being scrutinised and prodded.

He went slowly, keeping his eyes locked on Nestor’s as he undid the fastenings on his dancing robe carefully, swaying a little to the music drifting among the trees.

Nestor’s long experience was the only reason he kept his self-control, watching Meludir perform the art of becoming unclad with a sensuality that masked the pain he was in – and did nothing to keep Nestor’s imagination from sprinting towards pleasure again. Ruthlessly, he forced himself to focus on the most immediate concern; the way Meludir’s eyes had rolled back into his head for a moment suggested a worse than average injury, and Nestor really hoped his own actions had not exacerbated the issue.

“I said _show_ me,” Nestor repeated, needing to swallow a little at the coy glance Meludir gave him, turning around and letting the robe fall off his shoulders to hang at his elbows, revealing round powerful muscles and a small spot beneath the left shoulder blade that seemed to invite kisses.

Nestor stared. He hadn’t expected Meludir to try to seduce him _now_ , and he knew himself well enough to know that if he had been less worried about his injuries – the bruised arm was on display and although it was healing, it looked very sore, still – the slow dancing would have worked.

He wished they could have more than these two nights, wished he might entice Meludir into a repeat on a night when neither of them had places to be or injuries to mind.

But that would not happen now.

 _Even if I hadn’t downed three goblets of Lovers’ Wine…_ wryly, he shook his head, knowing that Meludir only had to smile at him to make him want to agree to anything he desired. It was a dangerous feeling, too close to loving for comfort, and Nestor pushed the thought away uneasily.

Getting up because moving was preferable to sitting there and staring at what he shouldn’t want, Nestor closed in on Meludir, tracing the edge of the bruise with a single finger as he hooked his other hand in the robe, tugging it down until it hung off Meludir’s wrists.

The bandages were simple undyed linen, and Nestor’s trained eye noted their freshness, but also the slightly alarming amount of seepage already occurred.

“I’ll need to remove this,” he murmured, moving around Meludir to undo the knots that held the wrapping in place. “Who bound it for you?”

“Lieutenant Magoldir,” Meludir said, too close and too breathless for Nestor’s poor heart. “Healer Dínelloth stitched it, though.”

“Lie down,” Nestor ordered, gesturing at the pillows and taking Meludir’s hand when he winced at moving, helping him lower himself onto his stomach. “Magoldir does have some knowledge of wound care,” he mused, gently removing the bloodstained bandages. “And Dínelloth was one of my best students.”

Meludir tried not to whimper when the edges caught, but then he felt something liquid soak into the fabric padding, soothing the aches.

“Stay still,” Nestor said, his fingers gently pressing along the edges of Meludir’s wound, freeing the bandage once the potion had soaked into the scabs to soften them a little. “The stitching is good,” he declared, “and I see no signs of festering.” He sighed, putting a hand on Meludir’s shoulder. “But you’re to take it easy for at least four days. No strenuous activity – and that includes taking part in the pleasures of the festival,” he added, trying to be stern and consoling at once, “I’m sorry.” Still, a part of him felt a little relieved that he wouldn’t need to talk to Meludir about the lines they should not cross – lines he was dancing perilously close to already.

Meludir groaned into the pillow, filled with frustration. He knew Nestor was right, but he still wanted to disregard the edict… but the person he wanted to disregard it with was the person who’d given it. He had known that would be the case once the severity of his wound made itself clear – the spiders had ambushed them only a day’s journey from the Halls, and if he’d been less distracted by thoughts of his Hunter Meludir might have been less hurt. Magoldir hadn’t said it, but Meludir had _felt_ the ‘I told you to be vigilant’ coming off him in waves.

Still, he had hoped for a little more time before Nestor realised. A few more kisses, at least – Nestor was better at that than Meludir had ever dreamed – even if that was all he could have.

“I’ll put some salve on it and clean bandages, then I want to see your leg, too,” Nestor said, and Meludir blamed the wine for his very obvious reaction when those tender hands were back on his flesh, bringing with them soothing coolness.

“It’s really not that bad,” Meludir objected, sighing as the salve began to numb his back. “Don’t trouble yourself.”

“I have a small pot of salve for bruises with me,” Nestor murmured. “It is no bother.”

Meludir did his best not to imagine the reason Nestor had brought that to what should have been a night of loving, but his imagination was still full of Faindirn’s descriptions of Nestor’s prowess and Meludir shivered as the want inside him grew fiercer still. He had imagined bruises in the shape of lips dotting his skin, imagined sucking Nestor’s flesh into reds and purples, too, but he’d never imagined that he wouldn’t actually get to do anything at all before Nestor realised that he was too injured to do _everything_.

Nestor’s fingers undid the ties at his hips, leaving Meludir to groan into the pillow he clutched as he tried to will himself to soften. And then Nestor’s hands were back on his skin, a pleasantly floral salve on his fingers as he rubbed the large bruise on the side of Meludir’s thigh and hip.

Meludir wanted those clever fingers elsewhere, moaning softly at the idea and then groaning slightly when he moved his hips to discover that the pillow provided a lovely counterpoint of pleasure. Was that Nestor’s original intention for it? Meludir’s mind flooded with images, seeing himself spread out across the large pillow, Nestor behind him dropping kisses over his shoulders as he thrust slowly…

Meludir blinked, hissing at the slight pain when Nestor’s fingers pressed into the bruise – but he also rather wanted him to do it again, the lick of pain heightening the pleasure running through his blood.

 _Stupid wine_!

The wound across his back stung, still, but the salve numbed it enough to allow him to relax into the pillow, trying to keep Nestor from realising just how aroused he was by the way his hands moved across his skin.

Those sweet moans would be his undoing, Nestor knew, leaving the salve-glistening skin on Meludir’s strong thigh alone before he fingers could get any good ideas and moving to treat the bruise running along the back and side of his upper arm instead. This was safer territory, despite the temptation of that dark mark below Meludir’s shoulder that Nestor wanted to taste, letting his fingers linger and stroke, moving on to the tense muscles in Meludir’s shoulders once he couldn’t defend continuing to let them play across the firm muscles of his arm.

Slowly, Meludir relaxed, sinking into the large pillows with soft sighs and moans, pliant beneath Nestor’s hands and he _wished_ that he could look away from the long gash and take this a step or two further, discover the kinds of moans Meludir could be made to utter with the skill of fingers and tongue.

Behind the loose robes he wore, Nestor’s own interest stirred once more.

 _Perhaps… no, I can’t guarantee he won’t be hurt worse even from that. More’s the pity_.

Nestor _had_ looked forward to tasting Meludir’s release.

 _Perhaps it is time I find myself a regular lover._ Somehow, the thought didn’t carry its usual guilty sting or the image of Reithor’s face, serene in death in a way he had never been in life, that usually accompanied such ideas. But that was probably the wine talking.

Looking down at Meludir’s face, Nestor noted the lines of pain smoothing over as the salve worked its magic; the strongest pain relief was rarely brought along by patrols, and although the wound was only a day old, Nestor knew that the walking would have been agony for Meludir.

With a sigh, he banished his own desires once more, leaving Meludir to sleep peacefully as he covered the wound with another bandage, draping the discarded robe over him before settling down on the pillows to watch over his charge.

_Perhaps he will ask me again next year…_

Nestor resolutely ignored the voice that told him someone would have captured Meludir’s heart long before then, now that they knew he was open to love.

Still, the wine had an effect, no matter how little it pleased Nestor not to be the master of his own thoughts, and as he watched Meludir sleep the simmering arousal he had banished returned doubly strong. His lips still felt swollen with kisses – Meludir had been bolder than expected, in that area – and Meludir’s carried a distinct flush that drew the eye… and Nestor’s mind.

Opening his own robes slowly, fingering a nipple in passing, he sighed, wondering if he was really going to do this. On the other hand, he needed the release, he reasoned, wrapping his hand around his own half-hard length and giving it a couple of strokes.

The lightning strike up his spine had to be the wine, surely.

Meludir smiled in his sleep, licking his lips, and Nestor was lost.

Fumbling open one of the small tins of greasy salve he and Iuleth had made, Nestor slicked his palm, leaning back into the soft pillows as he stroked himself leisurely, imagining the hand paling, fingers changing until it was a wholly different limb than his own.

Meludir woke to a soft slick sound, punctuated by small sighs and moans that were not as quiet as he thought Nestor meant them to be. Rolling onto his side, grateful that the numbing salve had not worn off, he stared at him, lost in rapture. Nestor’s fist was a blur, stroking himself hard as he panted, close to the edge in Meludir’s opinion.

He didn’t know if it was the wine he’d had that made him brave enough to reach out, swiping his thumb across the drooling head, but when Nestor’s eyes flew open Meludir had to grin at the dumbstruck look on his face.

And then he popped his thumb into his mouth, sucking off Nestor’s essence.

It was more of a whimper than a shout, but Meludir caught his own name in the sound of Nestor’s release, watching him spill in pale ropes all over his robes and feeling his own arousal resurge at the sight.

“What… what…” Nestor rasped, staring at him, one hand still wrapped loosely around his cock.

Meludir’s grin widened as he licked his lips. Nestor moaned softly.

_One point for me._

“You were thinking of me,” Meludir murmured, feeling smug. “That is… very _good_.” His own hand wandered to mimic Nestor’s position, stroking himself lazily. “Are you sure I’m not allowed to do anything?” he asked, heart racing at his own daring.

“Yes,” Nestor replied hoarsely. “I’ll not have you hurt – not even by your own hands.”

Meludir pouted.

“Can I at least have a kiss, then?” he bargained, though he didn’t stop stroking himself slowly. “You _are_ supposed to be my Hunter…”

Nestor growled something almost angry, but his eyes kept cutting away from Meludir’s face to land on his hand.

And then he moved, crossing the small space between them to catch Meludir’s lips in a kiss that left him breathless in the best way.

His back twinged and Meludir did his best to ignore it, fisting his hands in Nestor’s open robe to keep him close as he licked his way into Meludir’s mouth.

“You are the most reckless…” Nestor growled, holding his weight off the pillow with one arm. Meludir nodded obediently, tilting his head up in hopes of another of those kisses.

Instead he found himself slung onto Nestor’s back, instinctively wrapping his legs around Nestor’s waist to keep from falling.

“Wha...?” Meludir managed, interrupted by Nestor’s small laugh.

“I can’t trust you to keep yourself safe, it seems,” he muttered. “So I’m taking you home to keep an eye on you.”

“ _Really_ ,” Meludir groaned, letting his head fall forward onto Nestor’s shoulder. He wouldn’t admit it, but he knew that trying to walk home under his own power would have been an arduous task… but being carried like a small child… was hardly much better.

Done with refastening his stained robes, Nestor’s hands found Meludir’s bottom, keeping him in place easily as he began to walk through the trees.

“Yes, really,” he muttered, squeezing the left cheek in warning when Meludir squirmed. “Now try not to fall off.”

He kept a surprisingly brisk pace, ignoring Meludir’s half-hearted protests, and with a sigh, Meludir wrapped his arms around Nestor’s shoulders, sparing a thought for how strong he felt beneath his hands. Resituating himself slightly, legs hitched over Nestor’s hips and locked around his waist, Meludir realised something.

Every step made him rub against Nestor’s back through his breeches, sending flashes of lightning through his mind.

Meludir groaned.

“Are you in excessive pain?” Nestor asked, pausing for a moment.

“No,” Meludir replied truthfully; the curved gash on his lower back seemed worlds away compared to the pleasure running a line of fire up his spine.

“Very well,” Nestor mumbled, raising his voice slightly with another admonition to tell him immediately if that changed.

Meludir hummed agreement, his mind floating among the trees once more when Nestor started walking again, trying to keep his hips still so Nestor wouldn’t realise exactly what was going on.

Turning his head slightly, Meludir caught sight of Nestor’s delicately shaped ear, his auburn hair brushed back from his forehead and held by a simple clasp at the back.

“You hair smells nice,” he mumbled, burying his face in the tempting column of Nestor’s neck. A wicked thought popped into his head, making him stick out his tongue to taste the flavour of Nestor’s skin. As Nestor kept walking, Meludir paid him back for his first greeting, filling his ears with the soft breathy moans that Nestor uttered when he found particularly good spots, trying not to lose himself too quickly to the pleasure of rubbing himself against his back.

He didn’t last long.

“Nestoooor,” Meludir moaned, feeling Nestor stop for a moment to shift his grip.

“Pain?” Nestor replied.

“No,” Meludir said, muffling the word against Nestor’s neck. “’M good.” Better than good, in fact, he thought, wanting more.

And then Nestor kept walking, and Meludir knew this was the best torment he’d ever received, feeling himself harden once more in the damp stickiness of his breeches.

By Nestor’s count, Meludir had reached completion three times when they finally reached the Halls, and his own cock was hard as a steel rod beneath his robes. More than once, he’d wanted to put Meludir’s back against a tree, grinding against him until they both found release, but he mastered the temptation by reminding himself of Meludir’s injury.

He never wished to hurt anyone in the pursuit of pleasure – at least not more than they _wanted_ to be, he admitted to himself, picturing Meludir’s tight arse turned cherry red by his hands with a slight groan.

“Your rooms,” he said brusquely, feeling Meludir stiffen on his back and carefully not examining why he knew where Meludir lived. Letting go of those tight round globes felt _wrong_ , but Nestor was almost relieved when Meludir’s legs unwound and he slid down to stand on his own feet.

There would be no question of whether he would repeat the act from the clearing once he made it to his own rooms, Nestor knew, twitching behind his robes. The need was becoming _insistent_.

“Come in then,” Meludir said softly, unlocking the door.

Nestor stared at him for a moment.

“You said I was too reckless to be left alone – so you should come in to keep an eye on me,” Meludir grinned, and his smile really was the loveliest teasing thing.

Nestor wanted to kiss him again, but he knew he shouldn’t do that, knew it would only lead him to want more.

And still he walked through the door, finding himself in the small room of a younger guardsman, thoughtfully decorated with mementoes that obviously meant something to Meludir.

“My room,” Meludir said, gesturing vaguely; for the first time he looked nervous.

 _Endearingly nervous_ , Nestor thought, stepping away from the door and gesturing to the bed.

“Get in bed, then,” he ordered, and if it sounded more breathy than he’d ever be caught speaking to a patent, that was for Nestor to wince at and Meludir to guess. Picking up the chair left by the small table that held various sundries and hair ties, Nestor placed it beside the bed, seating himself. “Go on.”

“You’ll not thank me in the morning if I let you spend a night on that chair,” Meludir remarked, dithering with the ties to his robes.

Nestor sighed, getting to his feet and removing Meludir’s inefficient fingers from the task at hand. “You are the one who said I needed to watch you,” he pointed out, undoing the ties and pushing the robe gently off Meludir’s shoulders, feeling the heat of his skin spark through his flesh.

 _This is such a bad idea_.

But Nestor did not protest the soft kiss pressed against his lips, leaving his hands on Meludir’s shoulders for a moment before drawing back.

“Get into bed with you,” he ordered, cupping Meludir’s face gently.

“’m sticky,” Meludir complained, pushing the still untied breeches down his hips.

“Well we can’t have that,” Nestor chuckled, kneeling to push the fabric the rest of the way down and ignoring the way Meludir’s breath hitched when he lifted his foot to tug the breeches all the way off. “Tomorrow you should wear a long robe,” Nestor mused, “I don’t think you’ll enjoy getting your breeches on.”

“I didn’t enjoy it today,” Meludir agreed sagely, “though you made removing them much easier.”

“I live to serve,” Nestor replied drily, reaching around to smack Meludir’s cheek lightly. “Now get to bed; you need rest.”

Meludir whined, his hips moving of their own volition as his cock filled a little more. Putting his hands on Nestor’s shoulders, he swayed slightly, feeling the hand rub over the light sting until it turned into pleasure.

Nestor felt mesmerized, staring at the flush skin of Meludir’s cock; he was pale golden in colour, but as Nestor stared a reddish hue spread across the soft skin, rising to the challenge.

Almost without thought, he reached around to smack the other cheek.

This time, Meludir’s moan rung in his ears, his hands tightening on Nestor’s shoulders.

“More…” he whispered, moaning louder when Nestor’s hand landed on the cheek he had smacked first. His cock bobbed, weeping clear fluid at the tip and Nestor couldn’t _not_ lean in for a taste.

Swiping his tongue over the shiny slit, he groaned at the burst of flavour across his tongue, returning for another lick and another as his hands kneaded those tight buttocks and Meludir panted above him.

“Please, Nestor, I need…” Meludir whimpered, the words turning into a deep moan when Nestor’s mouth wrapped around the head, sucking gently.

Keeping his hands full of deliciously taut flesh, Nestor began to move, slowly at first, sucking Meludir into his mouth before pulling back, looking up at him with a smile in his eyes.

 _So good_.

“I won’t… last long,” Meludir whined, fisting one hand in Nestor’s hair as he threw his head back, keeping the other on Nestor’s shoulder for balance.

Nestor’s tongue really _was_ magical, as Faindirn had said, he thought, dazed by the pleasure surging through him every time Nestor brought him back into his glorious mouth.

“I want to taste you, Meludir,” Nestor husked, voice a little rough. “ _Now_.”

Meludir’s body obeyed the command, whiting out the world into a starlight burst of pure bliss that left him trembling like a leaf in Nestor’s arms.

And then Nestor kissed him, letting him taste himself from his lips and Meludir swooned a little, clutching his shoulders for balance as Nestor stole his mind through his mouth, one hand drifting down to wrap around the thick tool hiding beneath Nestor’s robes.

Nestor’s moans tasted sweet, Meludir decided, rubbing the heel of his hand hard against the clothed length in hopes of eliciting another.

Nestor caught his wrist gently. “Did I not say no strenuous activity?” he asked sternly, only ruining the image slightly by the breathless way he panted the words.

Meludir nodded, obeying the hand that nudged him towards the bed, but when Nestor released his wrist, Meludir’s fingers wrapped around his, tugging him along with him.

“Stay with me,” he murmured, suddenly exhausted. “You caught me.”

Nestor watched those brown eyes fall shut, Meludir’s grip on his wrist gentling as he slipped into sleep.

 _I should leave_.

 _I want to stay_.

_He asked me to stay…_

Giving up on his own indecisiveness, Nestor shucked his robes and crawled under the cover, surprised to feel Meludir wrap himself around him until his head was resting on his shoulder, one arm flung over his chest and one leg thrown over his thigh, pressed in between his legs until it was all Nestor could do not to give in to his desires and grind himself to release.


	2. The Second Night

Nestor woke at his usual time, appearing from the arms of a pleasant dream where Reithor had laughed at him for some reason or another, hanging from a tall branch by his legs and swinging gently, hands moving like pale birds when he talked. Always moving, never still, his very own babbling brook, that was Reithor.

And then the dream changed, and Nestor who wasn’t yet Nestor was running, his legs getting tangled in his long robe as he skidded around corners, never getting where he _needed_ to be.

“Reithor!”

The scream echoed in his ears, bouncing off unfamiliar stone walls as Nestor fought himself free of the blanket – and limbs? – that trapped him, kept him still and _too late_ and –

“…Nestor?”

Nestor whirled at the sound of his voice, lungs heaving as though he _had_ just been running full speed, staring at the elf still cocooned in blankets without recognition for longer than he’d like to admit.

“Who is Reithor?”

Blinking, he shook off the nightmarish memory, looking at Rei – no, _Meludir_ as his heart slowly calmed.

_A dream, not real… a warning?_

Suddenly, the desperation was back, bringing Nestor back to the bed in a single stride to lean over Meludir, placing his hand gently on the bandages – _not warm_ – glancing up at Meludir’s face, Nestor took a slower breath, noting the lack of pain when he palpated the area around the gash. _No signs of festering._

“Are you… well?” Meludir wondered, the sleepiness leaving his brown eyes.

Nestor closed his eyes, grabbing Meludir’s wrist and counting the beats of his heart against his fingers. _Nice, a little slow from sleep._

“Fine,” he ground out, dropping Meludir’s wrist. “I should… go. Yes, I’ll go – I want to see you after midday meal to look at that wound.”

Fumbling his robes on, hardly bothering to close the ties, Nestor fled the room, his own heart still beating too quickly, his mind spinning in circles of dreams and memories mingling with reality.

He didn’t hear Meludir call his name.

Staring after Nestor, Meludir clutched his blanket tighter around himself, wondering what had just happened.

Clearly, Nestor had had a bad dream, but who was Reithor? And why was Nestor so… rattled?

Pulling on his bathrobe, Meludir picked up his satchel of soap and comb, heading for the bathhouse, worry clouding his mind.

When he was clean, Meludir made his way towards the communal dining hall, absentmindedly accepting a bread-roll slathered with blackcurrant jam from Maeassel and tried to decide what to do next.

“I’d have thought you’d be ensconced with your own personal healer, still,” Magoldir teased, taking a seat beside him.

Meludir looked up at his friend and Magoldir’s smile died.

“What’d he do?” he asked, frowning as he looked Meludir over carefully. “Are you hurt?”

“No!” Meludir exclaimed, flushing slightly as the memory of last night resurged in his mind, remembering the feel of Nestor swallowing around him. “I’m not hurt… but Nestor was… _weird_ this morning. I think he had a bad dream about someone called Reithor? And then he ran out like Sauron was chasing him and I...” Anxious fingers turned his breakfast into so many crumbs, but Meludir managed to drink a mouthful of tea, feeling the heat settle him slightly. “I don’t know what to _do_ , Maggo.”

“Do you still want him?” Magoldir asked gently.

Meludir nodded. Last night hadn’t changed his mind about Nestor at all, despite his frustrations – and he’d be lying if he said that he didn’t want to feel Nestor’s tongue in action again – and he knew that the refusal to do more than he could handle was part of what attracted him to Nestor now, taking care of him even when he didn’t want to be cared for.

It was sweet, in its own way, and proof that Nestor care for him as a person more than he cared about getting his own physical release.

Meludir blushed at the memory of his hand wrapped around Nestor’s cock, wanting to go back and redo that moment absent physical exhaustion; he wondered if he could make Nestor come undone again, wanting to see him lose himself in pleasure.

“Then I think you need to go talk to him,” Magoldir continued, putting his arm around Meludir’s shoulders and squeezing gently. “I don’t recall hearing about anyone named Reithor, so I can’t tell you why Nestor would be dreaming of him… but good on you getting him to sleep in your bed.” Grinning widely, Magoldir applied himself to his breakfast, flirting with one of the servers to get Meludir a fresh roll, but otherwise leaving him to his thoughts.

* * *

Nestor paced through his room – the furniture had been arranged to allow an unobstructed path of twenty paces, which usually helped him calm his mind – trying to get a hold of himself – or, failing that, at least trying to explain to himself why he was so rattled.

He remembered being happy that morning, dreaming of Reithor’s arm wrapped around his chest, his love pressed tight against his back… but that had been Meludir’s arm, his soft breath playing with the hair at Nestor’s nape to send tongues of desire shivering down his spine.

This never happened with the others.

The task of Hunter was safe in its constraint, Nestor had always known, physical joy obtained and given, but the heart of him left buried with the dead.

Reithor’s solemn corpse stared at him, somehow managing to look accusing despite its blankness and Nestor flinched, dropping down on his bed and hiding his face in his hands.

“I’m sorry, my love… I do not mean to betray you.”

But he already had, clearly, with that fondness for Meludir that had sprouted in his heart almost without notice, growing large leaves to soak up the sun’s light and putting older plants in shade.

Nestor wept.

“Nestor?” Meludir called, walking into the Halls of Healing. He’d decided to be brave, though he didn’t feel it, having spent most of the morning wandering the halls aimlessly, feeling the twinges in his back return with the strain of motion.

“I would have thought he was with you,” Mistress Iuleth said, looking at him with an indecipherable expression. “Master Nestor has not been here all day.”

“No,” Meludir replied. “Not since this morning… I came by to have my wound looked at,” he added.

Iuleth raised an eyebrow, looking him up at down.

“Spider!” Meludir clarified hastily, certain that his cheeks were on fire with the sudden realisation of the implications of his words. “A spider got me while on patrol.”

Iuleth chuckled. “You need not fear Nestor would harm you,” she said, “he only ever wants to _heal_ … but I’ll have a look at it for you.”

Meludir blushed, remembering the gentle way Nestor’s hands had moved across his skin… and the way he’d moaned when those same hands had smacked his backside.

Iuleth’s hands were gentle too, unwrapping the bandaging carefully.

Meludir had limited himself to washing with a cloth instead of soaking in the bath, but now he almost wished he had tried it, wondering if his skin still smelled like Nestor.

“You should change the dressing once a day, but it looks fine,” Iuleth offered behind him, quick careful hands wiping a soothing cream across the closed wound. “I don’t think you can avoid a bit of scarring,” she added, “but that may disappear in time.”

“I’m not worried about scars,” Meludir shrugged. It wasn’t like people were lining up to look at his back, after all; there had been one or two, back when he’d first moved to the halls as a permanent post, but none that Meludir had cared to keep around – until his eyes had been caught by Nestor, of course.

“I’m sure Nestor informed you – he _has_ seen to it, I hope?” Iuleth said, “that you should be careful how you move until it is healed a bit further.”

“No strenuous activities for another three days,” Meludir parroted glumly.

Behind him, Iuleth chuckled.

“Rotten timing, eh,” she replied, patting his shoulder sympathetically.

Meludir sighed, nodding as she finished rewrapping the long linen bandaging around his waist.

“Well… and don’t tell him I said so – Nestor would probably not bar you from his bed after the Feast,” she murmured, moving around him to tie off the cloth with a conspiratorial wink.

Meludir felt a small bubble of hope at those words.

“First I have to find him,” he sighed.

“Find who?” Nestor asked, breezing past him to address Iuleth. “Ah, I see you have things well in hand, dear,” he murmured, “I’ll be in the stillroom – Captain Bronwë ordered a supply of muscle relaxants – and Dínelloth is concerned that Arastor’s leg is festering; I’ll be brewing for a few hours.” Nodding at her, he continued past them, disappearing into the stillroom. “If there are no pressing matters here, feel free to join your mate at the Feast – I shan’t be taking part tonight.”

* * *

Meludir stared at the door closing behind Nestor’s back, utterly baffled.

_Are you just going to ignore me now?_

“What did you _do_?” Iuleth hissed, rounding on him and poking his chest with a firm finger. “What did _you_ do to him!”

“Nothing!” Meludir defended, catching her wrist to stop her poking him. “I don’t know what happened! Last night was…” _mind-blowing and lovely_ “great, I swear!”

Iuleth glared at him, clearly not convinced.

“Something happened this morning,” Meludir admitted glumly. “Nestor had a dream of some kind, and he… ran away – well, he checked my back first and took my pulse, but…” He sighed, shrugging. “I don’t know what I did wrong…”

“He didn’t say anything?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

Meludir shook his head. “Not really,” he replied. “He shouted something when he woke up, I think, but it made no sense to me, and he didn’t explain. Might have been a name?”

“…Reithor?” Iuleth guessed.

“I think so,” Meludir guessed, “but I don’t know anyone by that name.”

“You wouldn’t,” she sighed, fiddling with her sleeve. “Reithor died long before you came here – one of the casualties of the Last Alliance.”

Meludir didn’t know what to say. Why was Nestor having nightmares about an elf who died over a thousand years ago?

“Reithor was beloved of Glocheneb, whom he named Nestor.”

Meludir’s heart froze. His mind whirled, pieces of a puzzle falling into place with horrifying clarity. _Nestor didn’t see me in the bed this morning… he saw Reithor._

_And whom did he love last night?_

“I need to go,” Meludir blurted, turning on his heel and fleeing before the pressure behind his eyes could become tears as he realised that he didn’t _know_ the answer to that question.

Could he bear to find out?

* * *

Nestor heard the outer doors close, sinking into his chair with a groan, and hid his face in his arms on the table, muttering to himself.

“You’re being foolish, Nestor.”

“ _Well I can only agree with you on that_.” The words, delivered with a teasing grin, echoed through his memory. Reithor’s laugh followed, a nimble finger flicking his nose. “ _I’m dead, love… but you’re not._ ”

“Why should that make a difference,” Nestor hissed, angry with himself and the spectre of his long-lost love. “Should I go hunting for some _consolation prize_ , do you think? _And who should be served well enough by a life in that role – no one._ ”

Reithor didn’t reply, and Nestor hadn’t truly expected an answer.

He knew what it would have been, regardless, and didn’t want to hear it, even from a ghost summoned by his own imagination.

“I need a drink.”

Abandoning the stillroom – Bronwë’s potions could wait a while, and Arastor’s leg was fine; he’d wanted an excuse to keep Iuleth and her sharp eyes away from his misery, and only felt slightly guilty for lying.

He didn’t even want to think of what Meludir might have to say after the way he’d behaved that morning.

There would be Dorwinion in the cellar, and Nestor made his way there with no distractions.

* * *

Meludir slunk into Magoldir’s room unannounced, surprised to find a second head in his friend’s bed, but not enough to jolt him out of his misery.

“Mel… what’s wrong?” Magoldir asked, and suddenly Meludir was enveloped in a warm hug and that was _too_ much.

The tears that had threatened began to fall, faster and faster as he tried to explain, until Meludir’s words became incoherent sobbing, soaking Magoldir’s thin undershirt.

“Hush now,” Magoldir murmured, rocking him gently as he silently swore to give Nestor a good gut punch the next time he saw him. “It’ll be alright.”

“It can’t,” Meludir hiccupped in between sobs. “Nestor can’t love me.”

* * *

Galion always poured generously, but also had the excellent trait of knowing when to keep silent and let his drinking companion stew in his own thoughts.

Nestor appreciated that a lot in him; Galion might have an ear out for any gossip in the halls, but he wasn’t _chatty_.

The wine flowed silky and dark across his tongue, the flavour strong and spicy, a hint of southern warmth mingling with the wine. Dorwinion was hardly a gentle drink, but Nestor enjoyed the taste as much as he sought the hazy glow of the world that made his losses easier to bear.

 _This won’t help you, my love,_ Reithor sighed in the back of his mind, but Nestor ignored the reproach. He already knew that the wine would only soothe his mind for a little while…. But a small measure of peace was all he needed to glue his pieces back together after they’d shattered apart in the morning hours.

He hoped.

And still a part of him wanted to go find Meludir and check he was doing as well as he could be – Iuleth might have pronounced him on the mend, but still Nestor had an irrational desire to go make absolutely sure for himself.

And not _just_ because he wanted to see that smile again, feeling his heart race a little quicker at the memory of the afternoon.

Staring at his half-empty goblet, Nestor sighed.

Peace would not be found in intoxication, he realised, his mind too wound up to keep from going in circles. A momentary smile crossed his face, remembering one of the ingenious Dwarven toys Rhonith had once brought the young Prince, a mechanical bird chirping as it jumped around once the thing had been wound up. The only thing he’d find here was a headache in the morning, a feeling that had never been useful beyond the initial experiments in alcohol tolerance that Reithor had once dared him to join in.

 _You did look funny, though,_ Reithor-in-his-head laughed. _And I made it better!_

Nestor shook his head to dislodge that memory; not one of his best times in life, despite the way Reithor had kissed his forehead, claiming to banish the spirits of consumed wine until he’d founds Nestor’s lips and stayed there.

_Meludir’s kisses are different, but no less sweet._

Banishing that thought, Nestor decided he needed to do something to occupy his mind elsewhere. And he _did_ have a place to go and be useful, at least, even though he hoped not to be needed for anything beyond dispensing lubricating salves.

Pushing the goblet over to Feren, who was well into his cups and slurred a thank you in response, Nestor nodded a farewell at Galion, leaving them to their conversation.

* * *

Escaping the suddenly too boisterous drinking session that had inexplicably been joined by a whole group of festive elves, Meludir ducked off into the hallways; Magoldir was clearly well-attended by the lady with the red hair, regardless, and wouldn’t miss him, and Meludir really just wanted to be _alone._

And then he spotted Nestor moving down the hallway crossing his own, and a sudden decision popped into his head, fully made.

Meludir followed, footsteps silent.

Nestor never looked back, continuing in a swift determined stride that Meludir struggled to keep pace with, nodding briskly at the door guard who hailed him.

Meludir echoed the nod, giving him a slightly breathless smile and a wave as he followed Nestor into the trees.

As he walked, Meludir called himself all kinds of blind fool – had the afternoon’s encounter not proven beyond doubt that he would never receive what he truly wanted from his Hunter? – but his feet didn’t turn back, and he continued despite the twinges in his back, realising that Nestor was heading to the festival grounds with a twang of pain.

Had he been replaced so easily?

No, Meludir told himself, suddenly certain, Nestor took the traditions seriously; if he had sworn himself to one elf that would last until the festival concluded in the morning.

But surely Nestor wasn’t expecting him to be there again, waiting?

Meludir’s steps faltered as he considered that option, but he didn’t lose sight of Nestor walking ahead.

Clearly, the only answers lay with him, and Meludir was determined to uncover the truth, even though he still did not know which questions to ask first.

Flipping aside the pale hangings that shielded the medic’s areas – similar concept to the nest he had built for Meludir the night before, though the colours were different – Nestor startled Iuleth being ardently kissed by her lover.

“I can take the duties here from now, Iuleth,” Nestor chuckled.

Iuleth knew him too well to be embarrassed, but her lover’s cheeks coloured as they stammered an excuse of some kind.

Nestor waved them off with some impatience.

“If you’re sure, Nestor,” Iuelth shrugged, grabbing their hand and offering no more than that token protest before towing them off.

Nestor grinned. “I left my own nest in the north glade,” he called after them, “it might still be unoccupied!”

Neither of them replied, and Nestor listened to the drifts of laughter – interspersed with a few moans here and there, though most of the actual lovers would be sheltering in the forest around him rather than remain close to the central bonfire – as he set up the tools of his trade, meticulously ordering the vials and instruments likely to be needed for any emergencies.

He didn’t have to wait long.

“I only took my eyes off him for a minute, I swear,” Thilior sobbed, pressing kisses against the brown hair of their son whose wailing would wake the dead. “I’m sorry, ionneg, I’m so sorry.”

“Shhh,” Nestor soothed, squeezing their hand gently. “Let me have a look.”

Holding little Galrion’s heel gently, Nestor turned his foot this way and that, examining the bright red mark of having stepped on a stray ember.

“No debris, it seems – we’ll cool this down for you, sweetling, I promise,” he murmured, pouring cool water into a shallow basin and adding a sprinkling or brightly coloured dried peas. “Now can you see how many peas you can stack on top of your big toe?” he asked, setting Galrion’s foot in the dish.

Galrion seemed shocked to feel the pain dissipate, leaning against his parent for safety. He nodded bravely.

“Very good,” Nestor told him. “I think you’ve earned a raspberry toffee.”

Galrion’s smile was brightly mischievous, holding up two fingers questioningly.

Nestor chuckled. “A future merchant, I see. Very well.” Rummaging in the tin of candies, he extracted two, watching Galrion pop the first into his mouth as he clenched the other in a soon-to-be sticky fist. “Make sure he keeps it in water until he no longer complains when you take it out – replace with cooler water every now and again,” Nestor added, smiling at Thilior, handing them a scrap of linen bandage for the tears that still ran down their face. “I’ll give you a bit of burn cream along,” he nodded, applauding Galrion’s attempt with the three peas in a pyramid shape in return for another bright smile. “Come to the halls tomorrow for more – I’ll want to have a look after he’s had some sleep.”

Thilior nodded. “Thank you, Healer,” they whispered, hugging their son close.

“And do not blame yourself,” Nestor added kindly. “All elflings get injured at some point growing up; this was not your doing.”

“You’re surprisingly good with little ones,” Meludir said, blurting the words out as he slipped into the medic area, letting the fabric close behind the little boy and his parent carefully manoeuvring boy and bowl of water both.

Nestor startled, looking up at him and dropping the larger tin of burn salve on his foot with a surprised exclamation.

“Meludir!...?” he said, then frowned slightly. “Did you walk all the way here?”

Meludir nodded. Nestor had smiled when he said his name, just a little, and Meludir had to stop himself beaming back at him.

“Estë’s tears!” Nestor cursed, jumping to his feet. “Sit down, you fool – I _told_ you no strenuous activities!”

But his hands were gentle when they wrapped around Meludir’s upper arms, guiding him to rest on another of the large cushions Meludir had seen in the space Nestor had made for him the night before. 

“Yes…” he agreed amiably, sighing in relief as he found a comfortable position, “but you’re here… and I am still your Dancer for tonight.”

“…” Nestor grumbled, some combination of Meludir’s name and the word foolish that only made Meludir smile. He picked up the tin he’d dropped, making sure it was sealed properly before returning it to the line along the low table. “I suppose I may as well check that you haven’t undone Dínelloth’s good work,” he added, gesturing at Meludir. “Shirt off, please.”

“What, no kisses first this time?” Meludir teased, though he obeyed the command, pleased with the small snort of laughter Nestor couldn’t quite smother in response. Turning over, Meludir stretched along the cushion on his stomach, legs hanging off the edge, and looked over his shoulder at Nestor.

Meludir stretched, smiling with something like a satisfied curl of warmth in his stomach when he realised that Nestor’s eyes had been drawn by the curve of his arse in the leather leggings more than the linen bandage across the small of his back.

“You’re a terrible patient,” Nestor huffed, though Meludir knew he was amused rather than angry. “Flirting with me so much.”

“Oh, I’d never flirt with you, Nestor,” Meludir replied loftily, resting his head on his crossed arms and closing his eyes. “I’m wooing you – there’s a difference.”

And then the words that had slipped out, helped by the alcohol in his system, came back through his ears, and Meludir tensed, expecting that this would be where he was told to leave. One hand crept towards his discarded shirt…

“I haven’t a heart to be wooed,” Nestor replied softly, sounding sad. “You should find a worthier target for these feelings.”

“I’m sorry?” Meludir said, turning around with an incredulous gesture. “ _You don’t have a heart??!_ ”

Nestor shook his head, sighing.

“Nestor…” Meludir said. “You have so much heart I worry about it breaking sometimes – it’s what makes you such an excellent healer… how can you say you have no heart when I see it every day?!”

Nestor shook his head slowly. “I buried that part… oh, a thousand years ago,” he replied. “With my beloved.”

Meludir could only stare at him, lost for words.

“His name is Reithor,” Nestor said, golden eyes softening. “I gave him my heart… and buried it with him.”

 _He’s afraid to lose another love_ , someone whispered, startling Meludir. The motion ripped a line of fire across his back, making him fall back onto his stomach with a groan of pain.

“What happened?!” Nestor exclaimed, his hands quick but gentle as he unwound the bandage.

Meludir just whimpered weakly in response.

“You haven’t torn the stitches,” Nestor mumbled to himself.

Meludir waved a hand in recognition of that fact, though it didn’t lessen the pounding lance of pain running from the wound and up through his spine. Breathing slowly, he tried to calm his body.

When Nestor’s hands returned to his bare skin, carrying with them cool relief, Meludir moaned at his touch, wishing for more though he knew better than to ask.

“You’re afraid…” he whispered, feeling that the startling voice had the right of it. “Because you lost him.”

_He’s right, my love… you’ve always been scared of loss – and losing me only made you more so._

It was true, Nestor knew, but that didn’t mean he wanted to hear it in Reithor’s serious tones; he hadn’t been one for serious, much, but when he really had something on his mind, it always came in that tone of voice.

Pretending that he hadn’t heard either of them, however, didn’t stop the thought echoing around his skull, distracting him from the feeling of his hands gliding over Meludir’s soft skin.

“It’s healing well,” he remarked, tracing the almost-scar with a salve-coated finger, the touch travelling just above the small dimple in Meludir’s back, coming from his spine and curving up to end in a shallow cut at the bottom of his ribs.

“It tingles,” Meludir responded, sounding adorably drowsy.

“It’s supposed to, a little,” Nestor replied, his eyes once again caught by the birthmark below Meludir’s shoulder and wanting to discover its taste.

 _He_ is _pretty, Nestor_ , Reithor teased. _But you always had good taste._

Nestor chuckled, perfectly able to picture the part smug part teasing expression on Reithor’s face. He would gesture lewdly at himself as he spoke, and then grin invitingly, beckoning Nestor closer with a finger…

Nestor shook his head, stubbornly banishing the dream-memory.

“Did you say something?” he asked lamely, forcing his focus to remain on his task no matter how difficult it was to stop his mind from wandering to more pleasant images, mingling the tricks of his old lover with random appearances of Meludir’s dimples until Nestor almost couldn’t tell which was which.

“I like your hands on me,” Meludir mumbled sleepily. “I want that again… after the Feast, I mean.”

Nestor blanked for a moment.

“You shouldn’t,” he whispered. “You should look for someone who will give you what you need. Not me.”

“But I _want_ you,” Meludir protested.

“You want _love_ , Meludir,” Nestor said sadly. “And even if I wanted you – and I won’t insult either of us by denying that I am attracted to you – I am too fond of you to turn you into a consolation prize.”

“So you’d rather make us both miserable?” Meludir challenged, pushing himself up on his arms and looking over his shoulder at Nestor. “I _like_ you. I might even be able to love you… will you deny me that chance?”

“I must,” NJestor said, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. “I… I want more for you than me.” Reaching out, he cupped Meludir’s cheek gently. “I want for you to love someone worthy of your heart. Someone who could offer you theirs freely.”

“I don’t think love works that way,” Meludir replied sadly, leaning into his touch. “I want…”

Nestor kissed him.

Meludir moaned against his lips, responding so beautifully Nestor’s panicked attempt to shut him up turned into something far more dangerous.

 _He is right_. _It’s time you let me go, my love. Set yourself free – you have so much to offer… and gain._

Reithor’s smile was sad but peaceful in his head when Nestor drew away from Meludir, tears streaming down his face.

 _“I can’t_ ,” he whispered. “ _I’m sorry.”_

He hadn’t expected Nestor to _run away_.

Pushing himself to his feet, hissing as the wound on his back twinged painfully, Meludir flipped the fabric hangings aside, catching a glimpse of Nestor’s familiar green robes flashing between far off trunks.

 _Go after him_.

The voice whispering on the breeze flicked at a lock of his hair and Meludir obeyed, setting off at a swift clip, dodging partying elves here and there as he passed.

“Nestor!” Meludir cried out, repeating himself when the name came out as a breathless wheeze at first. “Stop!”

Heart hammering, he watched Nestor come to an abrupt halt, collapsing to his knees as he stared at the burning tree on top of a small hill. Finding a burst of speed somewhere, ignoring the pain in his back, Meludir stumbled across the uneven ground, falling to his knees beside Nestor and wrapped his arms gently around his trembling shoulders.

“I did this,” Nestor whispered, hugging himself.

“No one did this,” Meludir said. “Lightning strikes trees in storms, and while you can do much, control that hammer you cannot, Nestor. _You did not do this_.”

“Reithor…” Nestor said, tears running down his cheeks.

“His burial tree?” Meludir asked, hardly surprised when Nestor nodded. Ever since the days when the People had been hunted by the Shadow – their dead turned into thralls and worse – it had been custom in the forest to bury dead elves beneath a tree they had favoured in life, entrusting the body to the roots of a friend for protection from the darkness.

“I first met him here,” Nestor murmured. “Hanging by the legs from one of the branches – I was trying to study, and he kept stealing my scrolls.”

Meludir squeezed him gently, almost surprised to feel Nestor lean against him. “Will you tell me of him?” he asked, because he did not know how to make this better, wishing it was something he could smile away like the times he’d come across Nestor in passing and see his frown lighten when he smiled at him.

“Reithor was… I was always the serious one; he made me laugh, and I made him… slightly more thoughtful, I think. Certainly less reckless.”

“I like the way you laugh – but you do it too rarely,” Meludir murmured. _You need someone to pull you out of your own head sometimes._

Ahead, the tree burned, the crackle of wood popping loud against the stillness of night, embers flying high like specks of starlight.

In the underbrush, they smouldered, filling the air with a damp burnt smell of smoke.

A slight breeze fluttered at Nestor’s hair, brushing the auburn strands against Meludir’s cheek.

Nestor stiffened in Meludir’s arms. “Don’t leave me!” he cried desperately, reaching towards the tree.

Meludir’s heart broke for him, the look on his face so agonised “Sometimes,” Meludir mumbled, tightening his hold gently, “we must burn away what has become tangled and strangling, clearing ground for new growth – new trees.” 

“But…!”

Meludir knew that Nestor wasn’t truly hearing him – he had seen this sort of entreaty before, elves appealing to some higher power to save them from the pain more than the people around them.

_You were so loved, Reithor… I hope you appreciated that every day._

A playful breeze, warm as summer, caressed Meludir’s cheek, brushing back Nestor’s hair with something like warm fondness.

Nestor screamed, incoherent fury and grief mingling into a wail of sorrow that Meludir knew no one who knew the stern healer would have believed him capable of uttering.

“ _Please!_ ” Nestor cried, slumping into Meludir’s arms. “ _Come back…”_

Vána’s gardeners – winter storms, wildfires, and spring floods – could be cruel… but perhaps Nestor might begin to heal, now.

Meludir’s eyes overflowed with tears, blurring the burnt tree, but his arms remained tightly wrapped around Nestor as he sobbed out his grief.


	3. Epilogue

The fire spread beyond Reithor’s tree, clearing a new glade before a spring storm put it out; augurs considered it a sign of Vána’s blessings, an omen of a fruitful spring.

And there was some truth to that, Meludir thought, walking beside his lover a year to the day since Reithor’s fëa had faded from the forest, for several babes were expected in the coming months, and the larders had been overflowing come winter.

Looking at Nestor’s apprehensive expression, Meludir smiled, reaching out to squeeze his hand gently.

He had not spoken of love to his grumpy healer, but he did not need to say it to know what filled his heart – and although Nestor had said nothing either, Meludir knew the day would come.

Nestor glanced over, trying for a smile though he fell slightly short, and squeezed Meludir’s hand back.

“Thank you for coming with me,” he said.

Meludir nodded.

Today was special between them.

It was the first time Nestor had returned to the glade that had once been his favourite place in the Forest, and Meludir had packed a blanket and some food, intending to spend the last night of the Feast of Love beneath the stars, creating new memories.

Together.

And maybe they’d come back next year.

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly struggled with the openness of the prompt for this, but I hope you enjoyed the tale regardless ;)


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